Formula for Failure
by JapanCat
Summary: Mukuro's thoughts on Hiei post-battle with Shigure. Or the one where Mukuro's kind of a creeper. Kind of.


Fornula for Failure

What is the equation for life? The additions, subtractions, standard deviations, mean-median-mode, exponential logarithms that converge to create what we call life? Life is an irrational number. Or is it in imaginary number? It never ends in a real number. There is no solution. Every breath adds in a new piece of the equation, so the last breath I took is not the same as the one I'm taking now or the next. If you were to graph life, you would only see blackness, or maybe nothing but white, with all the points for every damn fraction that can be accounted for in the function that it would be.

Even humans have it so easy. Humans can generalize their functions to an extent, but my own flesh cannot be compared to that of Kirin's or the thousands of faceless demons out there, pureblood and mutts alike. Yet we all can feel the same pain. I could still hurt if someone took a torch to my skin right now, though it wouldn't leave the scars that I wish it would leave. I'm beyond scars now, whether I want to be or not. But I digress.

What is the chemical formula for life? The bicarbonates, hydrogen and oxygen, phosphorus and calcium mixed together that comes down to building up a body. Yet each and very life form is as varied as fractals. There is no unification through one single equation. The books filled with every one will go on forever.

Let's take one irrational question to the next irrationality- What is the formula for failure?

…

You asked one day, Why do we love? Why can't we live without love? Why does it drive a man to murder, to stalking, to war, to endless searches for attention? The sociopath society says you are could never comprehend love when it was before your eyes, like it was some sort of cult ritual or something only the predestined could have, those with spoons in their mouths. Because you were born in a world where the mother does not exist for the majority. And even more still you were born in a world where the majority can only admire the individual and a minority can only love the character, never the other way around. And you can never have both, yet the way the world works is that you can also live and never experience either one.

In your case it was selection. They say depression is when you're surrounded by those who love you but you hang into the one person who wants you to die and so you live your life with your own personal Satan on your shoulder.

My f

"_To be or not to be. That is the question."_

And you know those poor fools out there. They say all you need is love. But what would define that love that you need? Do you need it from someone else? Does it have to be from yourself alone? Does it have to be both or are they mutually exclusive? If it's from someone else, who does it have to be? How many people must it be? What defines love for those people and how much must you (and them) give back? If it's for you, how do you love yourself? Are you born knowing how or is it an acquired taste? How do you know when you've achieved that endeavor?

Hiei, I don't know. I can't tell you that. I can see it now. Because I want to know, too. I suppose you're curious as to why you were chosen, the man people used to call the traitor to all demons, a despicable lover of humans. I really had no interest in you as a person but as the apparent sole master of the Black Dragon, you held potential, should the power be harnessed correctly. That was all. I have no way of knowing how else you could serve me and if you had proven useless, then you would have been that fraction of a percent. Hell, I had even planned to get the other soldiers to learn that technique and send you to the basement if need be. Frankly, I didn't do any research after that, though I would have loved the irony in having a Gandaran man come or a Raizenite.

But I had you.

You didn't have that pompous flourish of Gandara or that lazy drawn out draw with a hint of breathiness as far as the Raizenite monks go. You had that gypsy accent- here and there, though the overall tone masked most of it. Bizarre yet somehow endearing at the same time. You didn't have that gypsy-ish face, just one of expression that could only be called null. And as much as you try to compensate with your tendency towards defiance and distrust, you still stand with a null face. They say that gypsies are supposed to be as ever-changing as the weather in the hurricane season, therefore they are not to be trusted.

Then again, who the hell can you trust? Backstabbers and double-faced men all around us. Where have the genuine qualities of the living gone? Were they ever there to begin with?

You asked me why I chose you despite what I told you in the message I sent for you. There was a glint of desire in your gestures, behind the slight angling of your brows, the shifting of weight between your feet every so often. You don't know it but you gave it all away. The untrained eye would miss it or just dismiss it as your gypsy ways. But I know. I've seen it for years, off and on when I get the chance. In my own eyes, I mean.

Would you like to hear it? The reason they call me the dictator, the tyrant, the despot? I know you're clueless with the way you walked through the door, not a second of wavering. Just complete defiance, daring me to prove you wrong, dammit, daring me to allow you to just shove me over.

Let's try and keep track here, shall we?

The Formula for Failure?

Postulate 1: Failure brings for failure. It is a chain of reactions set off from one wrong move whether it can be traced back or not.

Postulate 2: For you in particular… Desire for something more, yet lying about your necessity for said object.

Let's take a stab at it, keep track, you here? I'll relate it back to you following your recovery from battle battle. Oh yes, I had it planned out- your months and months of training dueling with ex-convicts, POWs, and political prisoners; your battle with Shigure… And you… You thought it was all spontaneous, didn't you? But I had a plan A- the current one as it stands, a B, C, D, E, F… For every slight possibility of a change, I knew what to do. I always was calculating a change and how I could react. Everything around me was formulized. That was how I survived, or maintained the sanity I did have in any case.

They tell me I'm bloody weird. But I've never lost a war, nor have I lost a battle in which I was the commander. I have never lost a fight because I can always plan my next move. No matter what you do, you will play into my hands.

But here is the reality: we live in an inconsistent world. Strategy does not open oneself to understand another person. Interaction cannot be formulized.

You see, I did plan for you to come here and you played through it as a puppet. Taking on the opportunity to get stronger as you seem to desire so much. You reached an A class just as I had thought you would. But… How was I to know how endearing your presence was to the pint where I preferred you win over Shigure? And as I delved through your memories, it only became more and more so. All the calculations slowly started to become more unraveled.

And so came a draw. I was more disappointed in the fact that I had planned to revive you, rather than allow it to be of spontaneity. Hiei, you have proven to be too useful and I wanted to ensure your prolonged existence to feed my own fascination with you- this enigmatic gypsy that you are, the backwashed reflection of my being.

No long just my servant. My disciple, my brother, my son, my father… My l…

So it came to be that you are no longer just a name to me. When you walked through my door, you became a name and a face. And now as you lay dying at my feet, you are a name and a face and a life, knowing that it is _your_ life that slowly slips from my fingers. I wondered briefly about what would happen if I let you- both you and Shigure- die. t would be the worst choice in my life, no doubt, allowing Yomi to win out this damn Cold War. Suppose I let the world just go to hell, and then I could finally just kill myself. As I had planned off and on for several years, only letting the fate of my people stop me from doing so. Because I do care about my followers more than they think. You especially.

And you asked in your final moments, just after hitting the floor, your stone freshly spat from my lips, you asked, _Why do we live? Why must we die?_

The same question I asked lying under the cruel stone ceiling trying not to look upon my f- his face. The same question your mother moaned at your conception. Why must we live? Why do we die? Why can't those who deserve it just be born dead? A great man says that everyone goes through a period of reflection prior to their death. I doubt it. Only few people ever really want to die. And those people are ridiculed for their desire. Why must we live? Isn't it more merciful for them to die rather than force themselves to live?

Here's the first sentence in my story.

I've always wanted to die. Since before I was aware of what death was. Even in infancy laying under the assault of the devil, the traitor, my father, always knowing that whatever I wanted, it wasn't that. It was a life I wouldn't wish even on my worst enemy. Then again, given that my worst enemy was the man torturing me, maybe I'm a liar. Turning his own daughter in to nothing more than a toy. He didn't have enough women. I want to…

But even that desire to revenge wasn't enough for me to want to keep living. But I want so much

I can't I fucking cant oh god the pain I cant do it why cant I do it please don't let me reme

That man, the man refuse to acknowledge as my father was a traitor to his cause. The face I see in the mirror with some of his own features, I must destroy. And I did. I couldn't think of anything else that I could do.

oh the pain the pain the pain the pain the pain don't make me remember please don't let

…You see, there's a reason I hid away as a man. As I man, I wouldn't be threatened in such a way. I know you've heard some colorful rumors about why I choose to hide my face. I wonder how many are actually close to the truth. Here's a few of my favorites:

"He does it to hold back his energy. He's so powerful that he would destroy us by removing those bandages."

"He's Raizen's son and a damn good likeness of him."

"His face is nothing but raw muscle from fighting so much."

My enigma makes me a good leader on top of my apparent charisma. I'm no idealist. I didn't step up to this position hoping to change the world. I just wanted to be alone. It seemed like the best solution at the time. But then everyone started to need me. It took the rest of the world to force me in to living every day in hell.

Hiei, do you know? Can you feel this? You're a kindred spirit. Your sister's the only one keeping you doing the same thing.

And now that you lie at my feet, last breaths coming, I put my hands in your eyes. Hiei. Rest. I want to show you the work I've done to myself.

I hope you're the one I needed. The one I wanted to need.

My poor gypsy. My disciple, my brother, my son, my father… My l…

Don't give in to death. I'm in love with your existence.

…And that is the formula for failure.

**Notes: I used the word Gypsy. I didn't mean for it to be derogatory, and in fact, I was about to change it in the editing process, but I started thinking that the context in which it's used, along with the world in which the word is being used wouldn't necessarily be that way. Of course, taken that way, it doesn't make sense for that word to be the same as it is for humans, considering there is no "Egypt" or anything that would draw that root out. But please, I meant no harm in writing it. (So why did I use it?!)**

**Anyway, that aside, I had this sitting for a while and I wanted to finish to clear some room on my desktop. Thanks for your time, all. Reviews are appreciated.**


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